


HSWC 2014 Bonus Rounds: collected fills

by chthonianCrocuta (lovesthesoundof)



Series: Die Nachthexen [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesthesoundof/pseuds/chthonianCrocuta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All my bonus round fills for 2014. Warnings are listed in each chapter heading.</p><p><i>Transcript [Handmaid<3Redglare, T, BR1]</i><br/>Who could forget a dame like that?</p><p><i>Growing Pains [Roxy/Calliope (ambiguous), T, BR1]</i><br/>She's the first to see a cherub in the flesh. If only the circumstances could've been better.</p><p><i>Flucht der Nachthexen [Rose<3Terezi, M, BR2]</i><br/>And then there were two. <b>[Part Two of Die Nachthexen]</b></p><p><i>Not Tonight [Mindfang<3<Redglare, T, BR2]</i><br/>You hate that you're all she's got.</p><p><i>Disconnect [Terezi/Vriska (ambiguous), G, BR5]</i><br/>Terrible people aren't always wrong.</p><p><i>Occupational Therapy [Latula/Roxy (platonic), G, BR5]</i><br/>Gaming gives you back your control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Transcript

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who could forget a dame like that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by fishprincess of Team Aradia<3Sollux:
> 
> _Remember when The Handmaid paid a visit to Redglare?_
> 
> Warnings: offscreen carnage, blood

_[Interrogators' questions have been omitted. Transcript of Subject L-07's response follows.]_

Do I remember the Handmaid paying me a visit?

No. No, I can't say that I do. Assuming that I've correctly translated your question into Alternian from Soporified Juggalese - yes, go ahead, wave your clubs about, that'll help your cause. Because I can answer so many of your questions with my thinkpan smashed in.

_[Interrogators lower their weapons.]_

...Finished?

Good.

As I was saying: no, I did not receive a visit from any "Handmaid". The fact is, gentletrolls - if I can stretch the term to include pan-addled murderclowns - any woman who would style herself anyone's handmaid, let alone English's Handmaid-with-a-capital-H, would never have had the globes to walk into my office alone, in broad moonlight, wearing a green dress that split so high up it'd make your gazebulbs drop right out of your skull trying to follow it - and even if she had, she'd've at least had the courtesy to knock. Or put out her cigarette.

The woman I remember walked right through my door and up to my desk, leaned on it so far down I could see more of her than any gentletroll had a right to before taking her to dinner. She breathed smoke in my face, a greyish stream of it through lips painted rusty, glossy red. Her voice was as dark as liquid tar.

"I want you," she said - and in the drawn-out pause she left there I thought about saying I'm all yours - "to make me disappear."

I looked her over, a slow drag of the gaze over every one of her considerable assets, and the first thing I thought to myself was sweetheart, how the hell am I going to make anyone forget you? But I'm a sort of miraculous magician, brothers, if you understand my meaning, the meaning that I've made many things mysteriously go missing in my many moons.

_[Interrogators seem interested. Subject rolls her shoulders, licks her lips.]_

She was a challenge, yes. But I like a challenge. I like a challenge far more than a troll of my caste has any business liking anything but blood and paperwork.

And so I took the cigarette from its holder, boldly as she'd been to blow smoke in my eyes like a little dragon, and I said to her, "The first thing I need you to do...is kick the habit."

That burn mark, right there in the middle of my palm?

That was from putting out her cigarette.

I earned her respect with this hand, showing no pain, no fear. That was how she knew I was the troll she needed.

_[Second interrogator moves behind the chair.]_

...Oh, can't you see the mark?

Go on, brother. Let loose my hand and I'll show you miracles.

_[This section of the recording was expunged. Twenty-one minutes thirty-five seconds missing. The picture returns abruptly, with Subject L-07 looking directly into the viewport. Note the red marks in the irises, indicative of continued decay, and the indigo bloodstains in the background.]_

I hope the rest of you honking halfwits are paying attention. I know six ways to kill a juggalo with one hand. You just missed two of them.

_[She smiles, mirthless. Note the uncharacteristically seadweller-like teeth.]_

You'll never find my Demoness, little brothers. Pray to your Mirthful masters that I never find you.

_[Recording ends in static.]_


	2. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's the first to see a cherub in the flesh. If only the circumstances could've been better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by golgothasdabooty of Team Dirk<3Jake:
> 
> _Remember when Roxy saw Calliope for the first time?_
> 
> Warnings: blood, body horror, alien biology, improvised "surgery"

Personal log, Roxanne Lalonde, Cycle 95, orbit 3, turn 6. 2200 hours.

Had to go past Cargo Bay 2 on the way back from my shift. Door's sealed with an override bolt. Our resident xenomorph's still holed up inside. Can't say I blame her. The ship's doorways and corridors aren't built to accommodate anything as large as she claims she is, and according to her she's only going to get bigger. Not that anyone's actually seen her yet, unless you count the bigass ball of light that almost blinded half the bridge crew at first contact. I'm not sure if I believe in angels to begin with, but even if the stories are true I've never heard of them being shy.

Anyways, she's getting on with most of the crew pretty well. Whoever thought of unlocking the terminal in there was a genius. I don't know where or how she picked up English, but her conversational writing is almost native. 'Tula from Systems says her Beforan's good too, and if she's been chatting with Mr Grumpypants over in Security she must have a decent grasp of Alternian - enough to filter out all the cursing, at least.

Me, every time I get done talking with her it's always later than I wanted to go to bed and sooner than I wanted to leave. At least I've got a turn off coming up. I can afford to stay up through the dog watch and chat.

I wonder what she's been drawing?

*

Supplemental log, turn 7, 0519.

I don't know where to start.

...Okay. The beginning, I guess.

I hadn't been signed on two minutes when the lights flickered. All of them. All at once. She answered my message a few seconds later and her typing was - shit, it was all over the place. I could barely understand her. Most all I could get out of it was that she was hurting, something I couldn't decipher was stuck on her and she needed someone to help get it off. At first I thought, hell, something in the cargo bay's fallen and hurt her, but she said no it wasn't that, and she didn't want a security team or the med personnel or anyone coming in there.

The only person she wanted to step through that door was me.

I wanted to ask all kinds of questions, top of the list Why Me, but from the way she was typing all messed up and pleading with me to hurry I knew it wasn't the time. So I hared down to the cargo bay - the lights went twice more on my way down, and the third time I felt the deck shake under my feet - and what do you know, Shoutypants was already there with a security detail. The lock was holding, but the disturbances were way worse down there. Vantas' number one priority is to protect the ship and her crew. He'd figured the problem was coming from inside the cargo bay. Of course he planned to go in and fix it. He'd even got his team equipped with blackout visors in case the light started up again.

Thank god I'd brought a datapad with the log on it. If I hadn't talked him out of it, I don't know what would've happened.

They suited me up. Been a long time since I wore hazcom gear, but I guess it's like riding a skyboard. You don't forget. I fought with Vantas over the rifle he wanted me to take, too. Reckon he only gave in out of shock. I know I've got a reputation for liking the weight of a rifle a little too much, but, again, not the time. You don't take a firearm to help a friend in pain. One thing I did take was the case of cutting tools, though: I had no idea what exactly was stuck to her, or how I was gonna get it off, so I figured it was best to have options.

Once they'd bolted the door behind me and the light started to die down, I realised that bringing those cutting tools was the smartest call I'd made all night.

It's only just sinking in that I was the first person from the Five Stars to see a cherub in the flesh. ...Well. Equivalent of flesh. At the time all I could think about was how **huge** she was. Even though she was curled up on the floor I could tell she hadn't been kidding about her height. The largest sentient biped in the Alliance is a full-grown indigo troll, just barely beating out a hardshell carapacian. Calliope...she'd make the Archdeacon of the Mirthful Church look like a half-grown yellowhorn. And she's going to get bigger. Other than "enormous" I don't know what I expected her to look like, but I would never have guessed that "green" would be the next word on my list. It's...kind of a nice shade of green, actually? Like the felt on a pool table. And she's got these little green circles on her cheeks that glow when she's embarrassed - but I'm getting off track. The best way I can describe her is...imagine a bipedal reptile with a humanoid skeleton for an exoskeleton. Something like that. She's got **plates**. It's only partial coverage, but they're **massive**. Thicker than my thumb.

One of those plates - actually, two of them, the ones on the backs of her shoulders - was what was stuck.

I had to pry them loose.

Before I even touched them she twisted and howled in pain. The lights flickered again and the room shook like crazy and you know, I wasn't even shocked that happened because I felt like my brain was going to bleed out through my ears. I have never heard anything, living or machine or Other, make a sound like that before. It seemed to come from everywhere at once. Without the helmet I don't know if my head would've exploded or what, but even with them I knew I couldn't handle hearing that too many more times. I had to work fast.

I told her, okay, I'm gonna try to lever this one off. I felt her answer me, inside my head - _**don't be afraid, yoU can't hUrt me mUch more than it hUrts already**_ \- and I realised, oh, right, that's how she knows our languages. She's a telepath. I could feel her trying to press nice feelings into my brain, images of...I don't know, I think it was clouds and candy. It was sweet, her trying to comfort me while she was in so much pain. I knew there wasn't much I could do to comfort her until I had the plates off, so I got a crowbar in under the edge of the left one and carefully put pressure on it until it started to lift. It didn't bend or crack, it just peeled away. I guess because it was on her back it was the worst one to reach and pull off. There was some blood, lime green. Not as much as I'd worried there might be.

When I saw what was underneath I knew why she was hurting so bad. It was a tiny bud of a wing, with a fresh plate formed smoothly around it. The old plate didn't have a gap like that. The wing had been crushed under the surface.

I knew I couldn't stop to gawk at it. The second plate wasn't as easy to shift, either. I had to try the crowbar in four or five places before it started to come loose. Calliope was biting one of her hands to keep herself from screaming again, and yes I appreciated that for the sake of my ears but god damn, those teeth. I did not envy her hand. Hell, I didn't envy her at all. I had to guess that it was a normal part of her species' life cycle, but still...

Once the right shoulder plate was finally off she just sprawled on the floor. I had to sit down myself, stretch out my arms and take a breather. Been too long since I did any hard work I guess. Gotta get back to the gym. A minute or two was enough, and then I figured I'd better check out the wings, see if they were actually broken or just a little stressed. Miracle of miracles, they seemed to be okay. Thank the Mirthful Messiahs or whatever. It was hard to tell through the hazcom gauntlets, never mind the blood that got soaked into the tendrils, but I think they're soft. Softer than bird feathers. I wouldn't have called the rest of her "pretty", but the wings...yeah. Pretty.

I can only imagine what they'll look like when they grow all the way in.

She started talking to me again not long after. Still sounds in my head instead of moving her mouth. She told me hidden behind the light because she'd been listening to our thoughts, hearing all the things that made us frightened and disgusted, and seen them reflected in herself. Knowing our cultural standards would make her a monster, she didn't want to show up looking like she does and face our judgement for it.

When I asked her why she'd trusted me, she did something with her eyes behind the skullplate's sockets, like she was smiling, and she said, **_i had a good feeling aboUt yoU_**.

I wanted to prove her right. I really did. I still do. And I guess I'm pretty well-placed to be accepting. My adoptive family are water-colony carapacians, so I grew up around people with exo-plates. Plus I know what it's like to be the weird one. She giggled when I made fun of my squishiness - it was a weird sound, kind of two-toned and a little hissy, but there's something cute about her all the same. She's just so...earnest. Thoughtful. **Nice**. Obviously you're gonna get a bit of culture clash whenever you talk to xenos, but if the Alliance could overcome that on an interplanetary scale I've got no goddamn excuse not being able to talk to a sweet girl who's new to having friends.

I figured the best thing to do was to ask her a few gentle questions about herself, give the science team something to chew on and her a chance to talk herself down from the ordeal. I'd been right about the shoulder plates; they were always the bastards to get loose. The others had moulted off over the past couple of turns, and of course she hadn't said anything because she'd hoped not to have to involve anyone at all. Poor girl. The plates are amazing, though - she showed me what they all look like when I asked. I expected to feel weird about handling what's essentially dead bits of the same xeno I was talking to at the time, but they were so cool I just didn't care. She was so pleased I liked them that she promised to give me her old skull plate once it's been to the bio lab for cleaning and hazard certification. I doubt there's anything scary in there, even though it's apparently some sort of organic metal. Now I know why she eats glitter! Good for her skin! Mystery solved, chalk one up for the intrepid investigator or some shit. 

And now I'm back in my bunk after a hot shower and it's gone oh-five-hundred and I am the tiredest tired that ever was tired. I'm gonna get some sleep. Promised I'd contact her when I woke up.

I sure hope the crew's gonna be okay with her. God knows she's been through enough already.

*

Personal log, Roxanne Lalonde, Cycle 95, orbit 5, turn 1. 

Welp, the word is out on Callie and the ship's divided over whether "scary cool" or "creepy cute" is the best descriptor. Naturally one or two asshats had to make some mean comments, but after Vantas came down on them like a metric ton of really pissed off bricks they took their ball and went home. Good riddance.

I've been busy as all hell the last orbit working on DNA analysis. Reckon my insisting the Captain asked Callie's permission before we sequenced her was enough to land me with the job when she said yes. Totes not complaining! Shit's fascinating, I can't even tell you. Too soon to lay down any serious hypotheses other than that "reptile" might have been a good word to use. Give it a couple more orbits and I might have something we can use.

...Dammit, what was the other thing I wanted to - oh yeah! I finally got my hands on her old skull plate. Couldn't figure what the holdup was - first I thought it was the boys in the lab taking their sweet time just to screw with me, but I checked in with them and they said they cleared it two turns ago. Turns out Callie wanted to paint it for me first. Cutie. Apparently somebody sent her some Earth culture files on the Day of the Dead, because she's painted the whole thing up with vines and marigolds. I'm gonna hang it on the wall. Nobody ever made me art before.

I think she's gonna like Prospit. By the time we get home, it'll be almost summer.


	3. Flucht der Nachthexen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then there were two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of Die Nachthexen.
> 
> Prompted by cerulean_neuf of Team Dave<>Karkat:
> 
> _Zapoi (Russian): Two or more days of drunkenness that usually involves a journey or waking up somewhere unexpected._
> 
> Warnings: off-screen domestic abuse and eye trauma, alcohol, era-appropriate slurs

There's a slight throb at your temple when you wake. Something tells you that you ought to have expected worse, much worse, orders of fucking **magnitude** worse, but you're not sure why until you crack open an eye.

Abandoned bottle. Unfamiliar surroundings. Painful morning sun.

Rezya, sleeping in your arms.

You mouth a curse in what you suspect is French and squeeze your eyes shut against the advancing day. It's coming back to you, slowly but surely. Where's Vriska? ...Gone, of course, gone with the coming end of the war, just enough fuel in the _kukuruznik_ 's tank to hit the other side of the dying Reich before going down. She offered to let you come with her, or else to drop you off somewhere in France, but you declined - not because she thought she'd get you killed, no, because she's had most of the war to do that and persistently failed, nor because you'd've had nowhere to go in France. You've no shortage of distant relatives there, if they've survived, and even if they haven't you know for certain you have a brother in Texas. You could've made a go of it, once the GIs started shipping home from Normandy.

No, you refused because Vriska's battered U-2 only has the one passenger seat, and you, stubborn you, wouldn't leave little Rezya behind.

So Vriska left the both of you, without a backward glance.

Despite that - or perhaps because of it - you hope she's still alive.

Your mouth tastes like something dying. There's a glass beside the bed. You stretch out a hand, wincing in the daylight - please, God, let this not be more vodka. You've had enough of that over the past two days to pickle a horse, never mind your liver.

...No, it's water. Well done, Past Rose; you've successfully put a sticky plaster over the bullet wound of what Current Rose strongly suspects is war-induced alcoholism.

You sip, and sigh.

Rezya doesn't stir.

It's curious to see her sleeping. Usually she's up long before you are, standing at the window with her face turned to the sunlight. Not that she can see it now, of course. Those once-sharp eyes are burned to a milky sheen. God. You hadn't even known she was **married** , let alone to... No, you don't want to think about him. You especially don't want to think about what he might have done to the two of you if he hadn't tripped on the stairs. Part of you hopes that crack on the head was solid enough that he'll never get up again. The rest hopes he's as invincible as poor Rezya seems to believe, if only so that no one will look for you too diligently. A fatal fall they might investigate. A merely painful one...everyone has bigger things to worry about than one drunken idiot who missed a step.

She wanted to go back and care for him. How she could've done so without sight is beyond you, but then again she's adapted more quickly to blindness than you'd've thought possible. You remember convincing her to drink with you instead. Then it all grows hazy, one shot blurred into the next as though you spilled a drop of vodka on the memories and smeared them with a careless hand. It isn't so far from the truth. Flashes of the last two (three?) days are clearer - her fingers laced with yours as you crossed a darkened street, for instance, and one conversation that stands out from the rest (though the backdrop is a smudge of darkness and light, half-forgotten) -

"What do you do when you love someone absolutely...and yet know absolutely that they will kill you? Do you stay, true of heart? Turn to the Supreme Soviet for protection and a fatherly helping hand?"

Her bitter laughter, bleeding into a bitter smile.

"...Run away and fly a _kukuruznik_ against the Krauts, praying to God that the war lasts long enough for him to change?"

Even the smile faded in the end.

"...And what then, if he does not, and you believe your beloved country, too, will kill you?"

That was when you raised your glass and said, in what you think might have been flawless Russian, _to you, and your sightless eye for love_ \- and then, once the drink had burned its way down, "I think it's time we found you a new husband."

"And a new country?"

"Both, hand in hand. It could be done. With enough vodka, anything can be done."

She laughed less bitterly then, with more of her usual maniacal edge. "You have learned well, Rosa! Very well. From the best, of course! Ahh, my sister was right about you. You are the **right** sort of Frenchwoman." Then she cocked her head and turned her glass in her fingers and said, "And now that you talk of husbands and countries, I wonder if there might be a way..."

...and in the piercing light of day you can't remember his damn name, only that she said he was shorter than you and crabbier than a crowded rock pool, that he has family - close family - somewhere in the south of England, and that last she heard he was going to find them.

He doesn't need to know about the other man. No one does.

At last, Rezya stretches and yawns her way out of sleep. Her sightless eyes focus on a point above your left ear. She licks her crooked teeth. She smiles.

"So, it seems I have not killed you yet. Good."

You smile back. It hurts a little less now, moving your face. Hopefully the pain will have worn off by noon. "No, not yet - though your idea of a bender certainly gave it the old college try."

"Hah! And my head is as clear as a cloudless sky!" She stretches again with a murmur, and you watch the curve of her body and the lines of her ribs. She's lost weight again, being with him. You'll have to see that she eats better once the opportunity arises. In the meantime, you'll slip her some of your share. Getting to England won't be easy. "Apparently I have not yet fed you enough drink."

"I have a hangover, you don't, and you think this means I don't drink **enough**." You grin, because she's so ridiculous that you have to. "Russians."

"Mmm. I think I must always be one of those."

She buries her face in your shoulder instead of turning to the light, and you think that perhaps, just this once, you might let the two of you rest a little longer.

It's going to be a long journey home.


	4. Not Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You hate that you're all she's got.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by memyselfandi of Team Kanaya<3Vriska:
> 
> _Valar morghulis (High Valyrian): All men must die._
> 
> Warnings: blood (mild)

"Do you know how long it's been since you last slapped me in the face?"

She's a thin, angular shadow in her office doorway, backlit by the glowbugs in the corridor. You're all curves by comparison, lounging insouciantly in her chair. With you in it, it looks comfortable.

"Counting the days, are you?"

Her voice hasn't changed. You know its every tone, few as they are. This one is Trying For Disdainful, Coming Out Exhausted; an old favourite. You slide your boots off her desk, knocking a tray of paperwork to the floor as you stand. She doesn't even **growl** , God. She just sighs, weary, like this might be the last straw that will finally break the desert plodbeast's internal support column but she's simply too tired to care.

"Seasons," you answer quietly, "at this rate."

It speaks to how long you've been seeing one another that you step over the pile of papers to reach her. There's being a sourspade, and there's being **too** sour. Tonight is not the night to try for a proper snarl. She sinks into your arms with a huff. She's standing on your foot, which is thoughtful of her, but it feels...unnaturally light. She's either not trying or she's not eating properly - a little of both, perhaps. These aren't even your best boots.

She sighs through her nose again. "I've been tired, Spin. You know what work's like in this part of the sweep. Culling season."

"Every sea has its storms," you allow, "but this is worse. This is... Do you remember how you were when they first...when the papers came in?" Even to your kismesis, or whatever variety of blackmate she is, there are some things you don't name. "You kept it from me for a whole season and I thought you'd just stopped hating me - " This is too pale, so pale it's perverse, but she still hasn't found herself a moirail and you don't want to lose her so you do what you can. Anything you can. Hate like a scalpel to cut out the poison -

"All right. All **right**."

You've cut deep enough. She'll bleed now, clean.

"...They want to re-evaluate me."

Your insides churn.

"Fuck."

She looks up at you with a mirthless smile. "Well, they won't even let me do that, will they? And what was it you said? Valar morbidity?"

"Morghulis, you insufferable... I know what I said. And I remember what **you** said, when I told you. You said, _yes, but we are not men_."

"I miss my good days."

It's your turn to sigh now. "Yes, I miss your good days too. At least then you were cocky enough to be pedantic. What are you now?"

"A shadow," she murmurs, "of my former self. A disgrace to my profession, to my **calling** \- "

"You're worth hating, Scarlett."

You never use her name. It makes her stop, gulp down a lump in her throat. For once she doesn't fight you, either, when you pluck the pointed lenses from her nose and look - for the first time in what feels like a lifetime - into teal eyes banded with jagged, tell-tale red.

One of these nights, when she's too tired or blind to work, they'll cull her for these eyes.

With the re-evaluation they've scheduled, that night might just have come a lot closer.

"Your eyes are beautiful, you know."

She huffs and turns away, only to bury her face in your coat. "I know you think so."

You smile. "It's true." You've hated each other so long that it's safe to love things about one another. You know it doesn't mean you love **her**. God, she's fucking **intolerable** when she's herself.

When she's not, you just want to put her back together again.

You dig your claws into her hair. The press of hers into your back is a little heartening. She's still in there. She's still fighting. Your little legislacerator. Any gam8lignant worth her salt would kill an army for such a woman, for the hope of watching her draw steel against them.

"If they come for you, I'll kill you first." God, your voice is shaking. Are you afraid?

As she looks up at you again she puts all her weight on your foot. It's not enough, but it's something.

"Maybe I'll kill **you** first," she murmurs, and bites your lip so hard you bleed.


	5. Disconnect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terrible people aren't always wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by equinox_satier of Team Kanaya<3Vriska:
> 
> _"You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve_   
> _And I have always buried them deep beneath the ground_   
> _Dig them up; let's finish what we've started_   
> _Dig them up, so nothing's left unturned"_
> 
> _\- Bastille, "Flaws"_
> 
> Warnings: mental/emotional abuse

"Whatever you're going to say, would you just _say it_?"

Her voice comes through the receiver all wrong. It's too tinny, too faraway. She's just a few feet in front of you, on the other side of the reinforced glass.

"Ugh. Why did you even bother coming to visit me if you're not going to talk? It's not as if you can sit and stare at me any more."

She's right. Sitting and staring you can do, but staring _at_ anything in particular is beyond you now. It's her fault, of course; that's a fight you've already had at least twice and you're in no hurry to have it again.

"Seriously, what do you want. I can't wait around all day!"

"You were right."

Your own voice sounds wrong too - rough, as though from prolonged disuse (or _ab_ use), and with a tremor in it that you thought you'd banished forever.

"...What?"

It's testament to how often you've surprised her like this that you can't picture the look on her face. You can't reach out to touch her either; the glass is in the way. The fingers of your free hand twitch in your lap.

"About me, and what I've done. ...They'll never forgive me for putting you here." And your boss may never forgive you for refusing to let her plead out in exchange for her cooperation, either - but you did what you had to, getting her off the streets. What you believed you had to. What you believed was your only option. The story sounds more familiar with every crumbling certainty, with every slip down from the moral high ground. "You were right."

She scoffs. The receiver crackles. "Of course I was right! They'll take any chance they get to bring you down. Hell, so will I! Don't think I'm helpless in here, Pyrope. I've got connections."

"You won't keep them for very long if you talk about them so openly." You can feel your lip curling into a sneer. "Do you want to get killed in there?"

"Hah! Let them try. I didn't know _you_ cared what happens to me, though."

"You were my best friend." Your voice sounds weaker than ever. "You don't just switch that off."

"Really? Because it looks to _me_ like you put your so-called "best friend" behind bars, so I'd just _love_ to know how you can do that and still claim to give a shit about me."

You could talk about cold hard logic, about how she's safer in here than out there, about how she can learn to mend her ways while she's off the streets, but you don't want to. It would all ring hollow, even without the aid of this godawful receiver. "I didn't come here to justify myself to you."

"No? So you just came to tell me I was right about you, and then what? Just...walk away from me? Just _leave_ me here?"

"I'm doing what I can, Vriska."

"Which is _what_ , exactly?"

It's not much. It's not enough. Your voice sticks in your throat.

"You know what? Fine. Just go. But you remember this - you may be able to walk away from justifying yourself to _me_ , but you can't walk away from yourself. And I bet you anything you want you won't accept your own excuses any more than I will."

She's doing it again. Like she always did. Twisting it all around to make you feel like the villain of the piece. "What's worse," you say quietly, on impulse, "a woman who can't see her own faults or a woman who sees hers and still won't try to change them?"

You don't wait for her reply. After a couple of tries, listening to her unintelligible shouting on the other end of the line, you hang up the receiver.

The last you hear of her is her right hand striking the glass, just once, uselessly, and then they take her away.


	6. Occupational Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaming gives you back your control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by equiborn of Team Eridan<3Roxy:
> 
> _“Being human totally sucks most of the time. Videogames are the only thing that make life bearable.”_   
> _\- Ernest Cline, "Ready Player One"_
> 
> Warnings: alcoholism

Tu comes in after eleven with a jangle of keys and a rustle of shopping bags. Must've stopped for groceries on her way home. Good call; everything's reduced to clear at this time of night. "Hey Rockstar!" she calls to you from what passes for an entrance hall. When you only grunt in reply, she asks, "Whatcha playin'?"

"Starbound," you mutter.

"Ouch, that means shitty day."

"Yeeup." But you shouldn't be taking it out on her, so with a titanic effort of will you force yourself not to sound like a total Grumpy McGrouchpants. "Get anything good?"

Your housemate pops her head around the doorway and gives you a toothy grin and a big thumbs up. "Pizza! Also rocky road cuz I kinda figured today would'a sucked. Here." She tosses you a little plastic pot, which you almost fumble; despite the sticky heat of a summer evening, it's still cool from the freezer and slick with condensation. "Might be a spoon in the lid, ideekay."

You shrug. "I need chocolate so bad I'm about ready to eat this with my fingers."

"Kinky!" Despite yourself you snort with amusement, which obviously pleases Tu. "You eat dinner?"

"Nope."

"Whaaaat. Bad gamer. Bad. I'll go stick this baby - " She holds up a slightly squashed pizza box. " - in the oven. We could both use some eats."

"Thanks," you call after her, more half-heartedly than you want to. She deserves a lot more gratitude than you've got the energy to give her tonight. School sucked, work sucked even harder, and on top of that Kanaya called earlier to tell you Rosie's gone back into rehab. Better than drinking, you guess, but still. You thought she was dealing. You thought she was doing _so well_. Why didn't she come to you? It's not like you haven't had your own issues; it's not like you couldn't have had your own little family AA meeting and kept each other sober for a night -

Tu pokes you with the handle of a teaspoon. You blink stupidly at it for a second before taking it.

"You're welcome..."

You sigh, and force a smile as she flops on to the couch beside you. "Thanks, Tuey."

Her smile is softer now. You'd never have thought someone with those teeth could manage that until you met Tu. "Hey, I got your back. Bein' a person sucks major ass sometimes." She looks up at the TV screen, watches your character moving around. "Whatcha build this time? Castle?"

You start to smile more naturally now. She knows you too well. When you've had a shitty day you fall into game land to unwind, and when you've had a _really_ shitty day you build things. You build towering castles, you build vast dungeons, you build ancient-looking temples with vines hanging from their crumbling pillars. You make shit _happen_. In going to a place where you can shape the world around you, you can feel like you have everything under control - at least for long enough to get your head back together enough to deal with the real world. "Not a castle this time. Check this out."

She scrambles to grab her laptop. "Oh hey, hey, lemme log in, you can gimme the tour - "

Ten minutes later she's helping you excavate a new wing of your secret underground lab, and not for the first time you're convinced you found the perfect housemate.


End file.
